Smile, Mrs Wickham
by I found my Mr. Darcy
Summary: George Wickham has been missing for three days. Where is he? What is Lydia thinking? First person Lydia POV with a cameo appearance by Mrs. Darcy. Rated M for themes of domestic violence. Super short, one-shot. Please do post a review.


**AN:** **Wickham, Lydia and all her family do not, of course, belong to me. They are the gift of Ms. Austen, and I am forever thankful.**

We were to be the example to all my sisters. We would be a shining beacon of marital felicity for all to see and envy. How could I be so stupid? Of course all young people think the same when they marry. Certainly my sisters did. "We shall not be like others," they say to themselves. "We shall be different." "We shall be deliriously happy." Ha!

I suppose we were happy for a time. At least I was. I do not think he ever reconciled himself to the match. Yes, yes, yes….he proposed and I accepted, but looking back, I do not think he ever meant to go through with it. That is the bitter root of knowledge that grows over time.

It was all very romantic you know. Not even my dearest sister knew of our relationship until it was a fait accompli. Oh, I think she suspected, after all she is not stupid. But she did not really know. No one did. I was so proud of myself for keeping the secret. He was charming and handsome and it was all whispers and promises in the dark. I had never felt so important and alive and desired. God, the things he made me feel. Just the sound of his voice in a room and my heart would race.

So we were married. He was handsome and I was pretty and my family wished us well and we were off to the north. I thought they were all jealous of me. I was proud of my husband and I loved him. I loved him the first time he came home drunk and smelling of perfume that was not mine; and the second, and the third, and many, many times after that. I loved him when we had to let the maid and the cook go to economize. I loved him when my hands were chapped and burned from the lye in the wash water. I loved him the first time he left his mark on my body and then begged my forgiveness. I loved him when we had to change lodgings six times in one year. I tried. I tried so bloody hard. I learned to cook and to clean and to smile. Always, always, I must smile. Smile when he brings home the barmaid. Smile when he gambles away the food money. Smile when after he has his meal, he realizes the presence of such good food means I have hidden funds and he beats the child from my body. Smile when he jokes that he should offer _me_ to the landlord instead of the rent this month. Smile when I realize it is not a joke.

The first night my husband did not come home, I was sick not with fear for his safety, but for my own. I was petrified of falling asleep and not being ready to greet him with a smile and a welcoming body. The second night I began to wonder if I should speak to someone. But who? If I caused him any trouble it would not go well for me. After the third night, Mr. Wickham's (I had not referred to him by any other name for years) commanding officer came. This was new. I had been offered to his fellows before, but not to his superiors. I thought Wickham must be in real trouble.

"Good evening, Colonel Wilson." I greeted him. I tried to muster a smile. I think it came out a grimace. "Do come in. I am afraid Mr. Wickham is away from home. Perhaps there is something I may do for you?" This is how it always was, so I waited and prayed he would not be cruel.

"I thank you, Mrs. Wickham, but I cannot stay. Have you seen your husband?"

My head snapped up at his words and I feared what I should say next. Was this some new game? I hesitated too long. The Colonel stepped inside the room and spoke again. "Mrs. Wickham? Have you seen your husband?"

I looked at him a long moment before I spoke, "Did he not send you, sir?"

I knew the moment the Colonel fully understood my question as horror filled his eyes. "No, madam. Your husband has been absent from his duty these four days."

"I have not seen him. He has not been home the last three nights." I looked to the floor in shame. What wife does not ask after husband when he has been so long absent from her house?

"I shall place a lookout. Do you have family? Is there anyone who can come for you?"

"Yes. No. I do not know if they will come."

"Mrs. Wickham?"

"Please, call me Lydia." How I despise the name Wickham and every memory it holds.

"Lydia. Surely your family will come for you. Surely they know." He gestured broadly at the room.

I raised my chin defiantly. "They do not. For if they did, I would have long ago been widowed." He can insult me if he chooses, but he will not suggest that my family have left me to live in this wretched hovel. I thought about Lizzy and Darcy, about Jane and Bingley, Kitty and her Earl, even Mary and her vicar. Not one of them would have left me to live like this, not if they really knew. I am sure they suspect all is not what I have written, for my sisters are not stupid. They are not like me.

His eyes stayed on mine for some seconds. It was an odd thing. In that moment I could not recall the last time a man looked only on my eyes. It had not happened since I was a child, except for my brothers Bingley and Darcy. I have not met the others. "Mrs…Lydia," he looks at me with kindness. That too was odd. "The lieutenant may or may not be found. If he is found, he is not destined to return to you. And if he is not, well…it would be best if you were not here in any case."

It occurred to me later that I should have asked what he had done, other than abandon his post. There were too many men for this to be a mere search for a deserter and none of them were his friends. I would know. Instead, I nodded my head in understanding and said, "It matters not. He will find me. I will stay here until he is found." The Colonel asked how I would pay my expenses. I gave him my best glare. He was not impressed, but he went on his way.

On the morning before the fourth night my husband did not come home, the Colonel's wife came to our rooms with a maid. My belongings were packed and I was removed to the Colonel's house. I looked about the room before I quit it for the last time and saw only one thing I wished to take with me; it was a lovely journal sent by Lizzy for my last birthday. She had also sent fifty pounds and an invitation to come to her any time my husband might be able to spare me. Maybe she did know.

On the morning after the fifth night my husband did not come home, I received two pieces of news. The first was an express from Pemberley. Lizzy was coming. She would follow the letter by mere hours. When she arrived, my sister did not look grand, she only looked like Lizzy. I thought she would be too grand now for a silly sister, but she was not. She wrapped me in a powerful hug and called me Lyddie and said she was sorry that she did not come sooner. She was the very best of Lizzy and I felt something like love and home wash over me.

I was vaguely aware of her speaking to Mrs. Wilson and to the maid who had been keeping me company and then she was with me again and it was not a dream and I was not alone and my beautiful, fierce, impertinent sister was holding my hand. We were in the parlor together when the second piece of news came in the form of Colonel Wilson.

"Mrs. Wick….Lydia, might I have a word?" He looked very serious. I was terrified. _Please, please, please do not say he is come back. Do not; I cannot bear it._

"Of course." I forced civility and something like cheer into my voice and gestured to the chair across from mine. We were in his house, so this was silly I suppose. But I thought it is what Lizzy would do. I also introduced them. I wanted to show Lizzy that I could be a lady; that he did not take that from me.

"We have found him." I hear my own gasp and Lizzy squeezed my hand.

"What is to be done with him?" _Keep him. Please. For the love of all that is now or ever has been holy. Please, please, please keep him._

"I believe that is for you to decide. As his widow, the final disposition of his mortal remains is up to you."

"Widow? Wickham is dead?" I prayed I had heard him correctly.

"He is; it appears he fell from his horse."

On the morning after the first night of my second chance, I watched as a maid packed my worn and faded gowns while I clutched my journal and fingered the necklace Lizzy had given me the night before. It is the garnet cross each of us Bennet sisters once wore. Mine was torn from my neck and sold years ago. When she gave me hers I felt like her sister again.

 _Before dawn, on the morning before the first night my husband did not come home, he hit me over and over and over and then I grasped an iron skillet and I hit him back. When he fell to the floor I dragged him to his feet. He was quite heavy, but I managed to get him out the door. I pushed him off the stoop so he was laying over his horse. Then I untied the great beast and smacked it hard on the flank. I returned to my rooms and scrubbed the floors clean and prayed._

In the afternoon of the first day of my second chance, I boarded my sister's carriage and I smiled.

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 _ **This story is the sole property of the author. Any duplication for publication in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.**_


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